


Mamma Mia (Here We Go Again)

by ohjustdisarmalready



Series: The Road Goes On [6]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU: everything is the same but there's a goddamned adult around, Found Family, Gen, If Whither Then is found family slowburn then this is found family established relationship, Multiple-Universe Bullshit Shenanigans, Underfell Frisk (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Asgore (Undertale), and anything that moves saying 'dude. wtf', feat. UF Paps pointing magic attacks at anything that moves, so basically a total split from canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustdisarmalready/pseuds/ohjustdisarmalready
Summary: Prompt: what if, at the very beginning of Whither Then, Papyrus happened to fall out of Underfell with Frisk, and come with them on their multiverse adventures?Answer: everyone is alarmed and upset. This is still, somehow, better than the alternative.You don't have to read Whither Then to understand this, but you'll get more out of it if you do.
Relationships: Frisk & Papyrus & Sans (Undertale), Frisk & Papyrus (Undertale), Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Series: The Road Goes On [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790866
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Mamma Mia (Here We Go Again)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Epicsaroundme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epicsaroundme/gifts).



> :) :) a fun unstated theme of Whither Then is that Frisk acts as their own adult guidance after their previous adult guidance is lost with their original world (which results in some uh,, strongly repressed feelings. after all, adults are definitely never helpless or lost or grieving)...this Frisk, though, still has one (1) singular Safe Adult. Perfect.
> 
> This fic heavily references both [chapter 3 of Whither Then](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371141/chapters/56917681#workskin) and [the fellbros' backstory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500997/chapters/61864519). And actually everything in the series? Weird how that works.

Precisely one thing goes differently. One thing that, of course, turns into many things, that turns into everything.

Papyrus comes home midway through the afternoon as part of his ongoing efforts to extend friendliness and positive familial feelings toward his brother; he’s learned that this is easiest in short doses spread intermittently through the day. He doesn’t find Sans in the house or Frisk’s adjoining shed, so he checks the back and glances into the basement.

He hears something odd, something he’s been dreading—a cut-off gasp that nearly turns into a whimper, followed by a yelp. He sees his youngest sibling falling backwards into the machine Sans hates but won’t let go of. Frisk, for their part, is looking at Sans; but Papyrus moves before he can assess the situation. He hears a young, human cry for help. He reacts.

As Frisk is teetering over the edge of their world and oblivion, beginning to resist at the last possible moment, as they need one last push—Sans’s bone attack approaches them, but so does Papyrus.

Papyrus gets there first. Unbeknownst to him, he mirrors precisely the way his brother held Frisk for one infinite moment: his hand curls on the back of their collar as he pulls them forward, leaning hard away from the portal that has already yawned open, and an instant later a bone attack hits him in the back for 6 HP of damage and one decisive push.

Papyrus’s heels skid on the floor. He twists to avoid it, but he’s too close to the portal. He let sentiment make him careless, he will think later, and then he will shake the thought off, because any other choice would have been an unforgivable mistake. Overwhelmed and uncertain, Frisk says no one’s name at all, does not watch Sans, and burrows desperately into the Papyrus’s ribcage; they hold tight onto the only source of safety and comfort they have as they fall through the machine.

A ten-minute deviation from Papyrus’s schedule leads to the loss of his entire world.

Frisk clings to him, and they both crash into light.

* * *

Frisk comes to their senses halfway underneath their brother, resting on a bed of golden flowers, and Papyrus doesn’t seem to want to wake up.

That’s kind of fair because Frisk doesn’t want to be awake, and they hurt everywhere, but also they need him to be awake please because Sans did something and now Papyrus is here but they don’t know where ‘here’ is and it looks like a RESET but it’s all wrong, and they don’t know what to dodge or if there even is anything to dodge, and Papyrus isn’t moving so they can’t call for help. They can’t risk leading anyone to him. But they can’t leave him alone and helpless—unless, he also wanted to hurt them? Did he want to hurt them?

He’s slumped over them like a bony, pointy blanket, with one arm under them and his shoulder over their face. Frisk is a little caged, but also kind of safe, between him and the flowers.

But then they notice the hum of an active bone attack, and they yank out from under him, scraping their cheek on his armor in their hurry to escape. The hand tangled in their sweater’s collar doesn’t seem to want to let them go, but he makes no move to resist when they gently remove him from the weave of the sweater.

He makes no move at all.

Frisk grips Papyrus’s leather gloves and tugs him to lay him out flat, instead of crumpled awkwardly where he fell, but stops. They can see where the attack is—it’s buried in his back, piercing his armor and probably nestled right between two ribs.

That attack was meant for Frisk. It’s hurting him and it was meant for Frisk. Their HP is already down to 7. By intercepting that attack, Papyrus probably saved their life. Who knows if they could have gotten back to their last SAVE if it hit them? They don’t have a last SAVE now; it’s like it’s been erased, or something. Sans could have killed them for keeps. No second chances.

He said he found a way to make sure they wouldn’t come back…

Sans was gonna kill them, and Papyrus saved their life. And now he’s sleeping and he _won’t wake up_.

He should be awake just from having someone move in the same room with him, he should have woken up with an attack ready as soon as Frisk breathed. He should be awake. He got hit (Sans hit him) and now he’s still and quiet and all sorts of things that Papyrus tries really hard not to be and it’s all Frisk’s fault.

They kick the bone attack at an angle, trying not to pierce his armor further but unwilling to touch it. It would be really stupid of them to touch the attack and die after Papyrus already took the hit saving them. They apologize quietly as the attack creaks against Papyrus’s armor, then wiggles some more as they kick it again, and finally comes free with a decisive thud. It falls away to rest on the flowers.

Just a perfectly ordinary attack. Frisk has plenty just like it. It’s identical to the attacks Sans has given them to use just in case they decide they need to kill someone.

It lies in the flower patch and glows red like something vibrant and alive.

Frisk could step on it. The bone would crack distressingly, which would make Papyrus look like he was chewing on tinfoil if he were awake to hear it, and then it would crumble to dust and the magic would go back to Sans. The killing danger would be gone.

They think about breaking it. They don’t.

Frisk, careful not to touch it, puts the attack in their inventory. They turn Papyrus gently to lie on his back in the flower patch, and put his arms at his sides. They pat his face to wake him up like they’re not supposed to, but he doesn’t try to skewer them. He doesn’t react at all.

He needs help. He’s hurt. Frisk doesn’t have healing magic, and they can’t make him eat if he’s not awake. He needs another monster to help him, but they both need that monster not to attack him. Frisk can’t take many hits right now, and unless they find a SAVE, they don’t know how well they can protect him.

The only entrances to the flower room are the long drop from above and the hall going to the rest of the Underground. There’s nowhere to run if someone comes by, but Frisk can’t run with Papyrus sleeping anyway. The best thing to do would be…

Frisk doesn’t know what the best thing to do would be.

They could stay with Papyrus to try to protect him, and they might both die like rats in a hole if someone comes by. They could keep trying to wake him up and draw attention and also die. They could leave him to try to find help and he might die while they’re gone, or someone might kill them while they’re looking.

If Papyrus stays asleep, he might heal; or, he could be asleep because something is terribly wrong, and then Frisk will just be watching him turn to dust and doing nothing.

Helplessly, they push at his shoulder one more time. Papyrus never gets hurt. Papyrus and Sans are both always fine. Frisk doesn’t…

Frisk doesn’t know what to do with a world where Papyrus isn’t fine. Frisk doesn’t _want_ that world. Frisk isn’t going to accept that world.

Papyrus is going to get better. Frisk is going to find someone to heal him and he’s gonna wake up. That’s all there is to it.

If this is really something like a RESET but weird, Toriel will be close. Toriel can heal him, if Frisk can just convince her to. Sure, she mostly kills people who draw her attention, but she’s nice when she has sane moments.

Frisk just needs to…leave Papyrus all alone…and go convince her to not kill them. With 7 HP.

This is nothing on that time Papyrus told them to run for Hotland while he and Flowey distracted Undyne. And that turned out fine. So Papyrus will be fine.

Frisk pats him on the face one more time. His cheekbones are sharp and the cracks over his eye are rough and deep under their fingers.

They lean in and hug him quickly, then set him down gently and shoot to their feet before they can change their mind.

The hallway down to the Ruins doesn’t have anyone in it, but immediately in the next room, there’s a Temmie.

It’s a perfectly normal Temmie, using the time-honored strategy of tricking an opponent into running straight into its Tem flakes and getting angry when Frisk doesn’t play along. It ‘reveals’ to Frisk that in this world, it’s kill or be killed, and prepares another attack.

Frisk isn’t really sure why there’s a Temmie in Flowey’s room in the Ruins, but that’s just about the only thing that confuses them about that encounter…until the Temmie gets hit by a fireball, midway through its turn.

Someone new enters the FIGHT. A goat monster just as big as Toriel, with similar robes and longer horns and a big, golden beard.

“What an awful creature,” he says, “treating an innocent child so cruelly.”

The Temmie vibrates out of the FIGHT. It’s the new monster’s turn, still.

“Ah, human—it is alright. You are safe now. May I introduce myself?”

The FIGHT ends itself…somehow? Frisk tenses, knowing what that must mean—this monster has removed them from the turn-based battle system because he doesn’t plan on giving them any time to recover. He’s going to try to wear them to carelessness and kill them as soon as they falter.

They can’t run backwards, obviously—Papyrus is still unconscious. They can’t run forwards, because the new monster blocks the door. They can’t dodge forever. They don’t have a SAVE to return to. They don’t know if what Sans did messed with their LOAD ability anyway, so a RESET might be out of reach, too.

(Sans wants them dead. Sans wants them to _stay dead_ ).

Without meaning to, Frisk takes a step back, hands spread out in front of them like they could just catch an incoming attack and throw it away.

The new monster takes a step forward that’s as long as three of Frisk’s cautious paces. His hand is outstretched like Sans offering his electrocuting handshake.

…it’s not time to think about Sans right now. It’s time to think about surviving. Papyrus needs them. Frisk wants to live. It’s not time to think about hard stuff.

“Howdy!” the new monster is saying. “My name is Asgore. I’m…”

He keeps talking, but Frisk’s breath catches in their throat as he looms over them. He’s two, maybe three times their height, and broad, and looks healthy. He doesn’t look desperate or starved. He scared the Temmie away just by arriving.

Frisk’s blood drains from their face as they realize just what Sans did.

King Asgore. Sans took away their SAVE and he put them right in front of King Asgore.

Frisk was, they were supposed to be ready to meet him. They thought they were ready. They have to meet him eventually. This is inevitable.

They thought they would _live_. They thought they’d have as many chances as they had DETERMINATION—they thought they’d have their dream to hold on to, of living with their brothers, of being happy with all of their friends on the Surface.

King Asgore looms, right here and now when Frisk is badly hurt and Papyrus won’t wake up and Sans doesn’t love them anymore (or never did?), and Frisk realizes they aren’t ready. Maybe they were never ready.

Their breath catches in their throat.

He’s going to kill them.

The king is taking another slow, huge, unstoppable step forward, and Frisk is trying to match him with their stumbling steps back, but he’s bigger than them and faster than them and they feel kind of numb, almost, except not numb because they can _feel_ how he’s getting closer, he’s the biggest thing in the world and he’s only getting larger, hand reached out like he just shot a bone attack at them, he’s—

He’s almost in arm’s reach. Frisk could take a step, one of their tiny steps, forward, and they would brush against his hand. He’s stooping down, the better to see their throat when he rips it out with his dull, dark claws. Not that he’ll have to—Frisk will die from a single hit by a monster this powerful.

Frisk doesn’t want to die. Frisk wants their brothers. Frisk wants to be safe.

Frisk _flings_ a bone attack from their inventory.

It’s one of Papyrus’s, because—they reached for that one first. As it leaps to their fingertips, it sparks up a dark, brilliant red, and the king rears back a fraction of a degree that’s probably small to him but is a whole foot to Frisk.

Frisk hurls the attack in front of them like the opposite of a gauntlet—something like a white flag, something like a last resort—and it flares to life vibrantly, raising a wall of bone attacks and then another and another until King Asgore is forced to take a step back as wide as the sea.

Frisk is still scrambling back, too, in little half-steps that don’t stop even as their hand stays extended and a flurry of jagged bones follows its aim, shooting towards the ground and burying themselves in the dirt.

They meet the king’s gaze, each as startled as the other, when a loud, high whining noise starts up next to their head. From somewhere behind them a huge, bright beam of light scars the cavern walls.

Another shoots from their right and they silently beg the attack not to hurt him, because he wants to kill them for now but they don’t want to die but they don’t want to _hurt_ him—a single, huge bone erupts from the ground, and King Asgore steps away from it and the beam misses him by a mile. A third beam fires off a quick warning shot near the king’s feet, and bone attacks scroll past Frisk on their left and right, circling them with safety.

Is this what Sans felt like?

The thought glances off of Frisk’s mind like shattered glass off a highway windshield; scratching at the surface but not getting through before it falls far away behind them. King Asgore is staring and Frisk feels pointless tears stinging at them.

This is where their turn would end, if they had one, and the bone attack is spent. Its defensive walls and the bones circling them on the ground don’t vanish, remaining like the boundaries of a FIGHT to guard their flanks; but no more attacks appear. The magic coalesces back into a single bone in their hand.

It’s solid even with most of its power expended. They can use it to block.

King Asgore braces himself, holding out both hands, this time, low and in front of him. He wasn’t expecting them to use monster magic, they’re pretty sure. What monster would dare to arm a human against the tyrant himself? What monster would sacrifice their life in a futile gesture of protection against the fate of a fallen human?

Frisk has doomed Papyrus, too, now. King Asgore is going to execute him, or…worse things. And Sans, too, for being related to them, and maybe all of Snowdin just to make an example. He’d burn it to the ground. He’s done worse for lesser crimes. To SPARE a human is treason—to protect one is unthinkable.

All those nice people…all those people who reached out to Frisk, even though it was hard, who risked being seen as weak, who offered MERCY after one or two or a hundred deaths…all those people who are working so hard to slowly, quietly, subtly SPARE one another, too; who aren’t killing each other anymore, who have started on the long and stumbling road towards the peace they’ve wished for but haven’t dared to believe in…

Frisk can’t let them die. Not for Frisk. Not because of Frisk.

King Asgore takes a deliberate step forward, accepting the damage to his HP.

“Child…” he says. He looks unhappy, and Frisk can only assume this is what killing rage looks like on him. Or maybe he’s sad, a little bit, that he’s going to kill so many of his people. Maybe, maybe there’s something in King Asgore that’s still kind.

They need to do something. While he’s not attacking, they need to make peace, to ask for MERCY, to try to save all of the monsters who have befriended them—pretty much every monster, at this point. Now more than ever, Frisk _needs_ to find the right thing to say on their first try.

Instead, Frisk sobs, and stumbles on something unseen as they back away. They fall back on the ground and half-crawl, crying, messily. They can’t—they can’t—they need to—

“Papyrus!”

He’s asleep. He can’t help them. He’s the one that needs to be saved; they came out here because he can’t wake up on his own.

They call for help anyway.

“Pa- _Papyrus_!” Frisk scrambles to their knees and dashes before they can even really stand up—they’re turning their back to Asgore but he’s gonna kill them anyway, this isn’t smart, this is stupid and selfish and they dropped the attack and they need—they need—“Papyrus!”

Frisk sprints back down the corridor, hopping the wall of bone attacks that was scrolling behind them. They’re dripping snot and tears and blood from a skinned knee they didn’t even notice, and they hiccup through a sob because they can hear Asgore speeding up behind them, they’re leading him right to Papyrus, they need to turn around and stop or do something. Anything but this. They need to do anything to not let Papyrus die.

But the flower room is in front of them and then they’re in the patch of flowers before they know it, and they skid to their knees again and they’re getting crushed flower guts in their cuts.

They shake his shoulder but Papyrus doesn’t wake up, just makes a concentrating sort of face, and they curl over him so at least King Asgore will kill them first, but they can only cover his chest, and you can hit a monster’s _toe_ with enough malicious intent and they’ll be just as dead, Sans said, and Papyrus agreed, so they can’t even—they can’t they can’t they can’t.

Frisk does a strange little hop over Papyrus’s limp body and they do the least DETERMINED thing they’ve ever done.

Frisk hides behind Papyrus’s unconscious, defenseless form, and they hold on to him and cry.

Huge, shuddering sobs jerk through their entire body and they make a sound that’s a wail and nearly a shriek, making a mess of his shoulder pads and trembling. It’s the high, thin, unmistakable sound of a child in terror.

This is the scene Asgore arrives to: the terrified human child who wielded magic at him is trying to hide behind a monster who’s completely limp and unaware, lying like a fallen guardian on the grave of Asgore’s own human child. In some sort of awful coincidence, the monster is a skeleton, and Asgore almost thinks at first glance that he’s a human, fallen with the child or rising from the earth to remind Asgore of all the human children he could never save—but no, he is a monster.

The only human in the Underground is hiding terrified on Chara’s grave. Frisk doesn’t know it, but if Asgore had ever wanted to harm them, that thought alone would be the most powerful deterrent.

The monster they’re clinging to is a skeleton, fashioned like a warrior, whose magic has chosen hostile and violent features. His body is not able to hide the child in their entirety, not while he’s unconscious. It’s like a child hiding behind a curtain with their feet peeking out underneath—the human’s face is hidden from him, but they are clearly there, even if he couldn’t hear their distress. Which he can. The human is plainly distraught. They can’t flee from him anymore, having reached their apparent guardian and the dead end at the end of the hall.

Asgore tries to further gentle his approach, if possible.

The human isn’t even looking at him anymore, hiding their face behind one of the skeleton monster’s pauldrons and curled up as small as they can get.

It’s not clear why the skeleton is not waking up—a quick CHECK shows his name to be Papyrus, as the child called out earlier, and his stats to be concerning. Combined with his physically intimidating form, Asgore would be surprised if this skeleton doesn’t have LOVE. His HP looks to be grazed, but not badly—only the tiniest sliver of red shows on his stat bar.

Then again, if he fell from the Surface, somehow, it could be that he’s physically hurt. Gravity doesn’t harm HP, but it can harm a monster to the point of unconsciousness.

Asgore doesn’t understand how he could have fallen from the Surface, or how he could have enamored himself to a human child who must have only just fallen Underground, or how that child could have learned to wield his magic or magic that mimics his.

It is possible that there are a handful of monsters on the Surface—many monsters went missing during the war, lost in the shuffle before their dust could be collected; perhaps a single skeleton monster did what no other monster ever accomplished and actually killed a human. His hostile features could be from fighting to keep himself alive, and his human charge…some sort of foundling, perhaps?

It is also possible that the human, the seventh human to fall Underground, is here to be hand-delivered to the Barrier.

Asgore will not know until the skeleton monster wakes up and can explain himself. This is a situation that will need some extra care if it is to be solved with a nice cup of tea.

The human sobs and clings to their guardian’s armor as Asgore approaches, and with long practice, Asgore doesn’t take it personally. Children find comfort in what comforts them, and they fear what frightens them.

As for the skeleton monster…clearly, the child is going nowhere without him. Asgore will assume that he’s benevolent for the moment. He has rarely encountered a monster that has agreed with his opinion that murdering children is wrong and cruel, but he will keep an open mind. Perhaps this one will be different.

It pains him to disregard the child’s tears, or how they try clumsily to shuffle the unconscious skeleton away from him. They aren’t strong enough to physically stop him from laying a hand on the skeleton’s arm. They do try, but he gently takes their protesting hand in his other paw, and their sobs quiet to terrified little whimpers of the skeleton’s name and half-formed pleas for MERCY—on their own behalf or the warrior’s, Asgore cannot tell.

He tries to be subtle and unobtrusive as he pushes his healing magic through the monster and the human alike.

It seems he was right—the skeleton’s HP is nearly unscathed, but he must be deeply physically harmed, and his magic is…odd. That may be a result of the LOVE that Asgore must assume he has, or of its unusual crimson coloring, or whatever caused him to not only live on the Surface, but fall off of it.

The human’s HP is more damaged from their interrupted FIGHT than Asgore was expecting, but it’s nothing that can’t be healed. They hide behind their companion and don’t react as he restores them—they cry more quietly, perhaps, but they may simply be running out of energy.

As he hoped, the skeleton begins to rise to consciousness when Asgore heals him. His fingers twitch and his face moves a fraction as he fights through pain and grogginess. It will not be an easy wakening, but Asgore nudges him toward it anyway.

And then, all at once, the skeleton shoots upward, only just missing a collision with Asgore’s horns as he scrambles from his prone position on the ground. He sweeps the human child behind him with one leg, bowling them over, and as they roll to their feet he’s already summoned a bone much like the one the human used.

It’s longer, proportional to a grown monster who can look Asgore in the eye without craning his neck, but the same shade of red. The skeleton—unquestionably a warrior, now—holds it defensively as he assesses the situation.

* * *

Papyrus knew, from the moment he showed the human mercy, that there were three possible ways for the situation to resolve.

First, and most likely: he would be executed, or given over to Alphys for experimentation, or used as training for new interrogators, et cetera. Regardless of the respect (fear) Papyrus commands in Snowdin, the reward for turning in a human is hefty, and someone might be foolish enough to think that they will be living the high life once he is out of the picture.

In actuality, Sans would help the human escape to the best of his considerable ability, come back for Papyrus if possible, and then exact terrible vengeance if Papyrus should be unable to do it himself. Sans and any surviving members of their family would lay low after that until they found somewhere relatively safe to relocate to, and try to survive. That’s the plan that he and his brother agreed on the very same afternoon as Papyrus’s FIGHT with the human.

The second, less likely option: the human might remain hidden from Asgore, or otherwise avoid being put to death. Papyrus knows that they want to confront the king and get it over with; perhaps they might be able to convince him to stay their execution, or absorb only six SOULs for his war on humanity, leaving the seventh to take down the Barrier while still alive. It seems impossible, but Papyrus’s younger sibling has done impossible things before. Papyrus tries hard to believe in them, despite what logic should tell him.

The final option, barely even a hope, but growing stronger by the day: perhaps the world itself will change.

Papyrus knows that death counts have had a shocking drop across all of the Underground, recently. It started in Snowdin, but the shockwaves have rippled far and wide.

He knows that Undyne has let subtle implications slip in when instructing the Guards. He knows that only hours ago, he witnessed the first ever public show of mercy for mercy’s sake, no plausible deniability or false pretenses involved; and once he ensured the safety of both monsters involved, he went home immediately to tell his brother about it.

It was a whimsical fantasy at first, but already Snowdin is very nearly peaceful, and Waterfall is not far behind. Already monsters are proving that they can be better than they’d ever hoped to be, if only they dare. Sans doesn’t believe it, but Papyrus, Papyrus hopes deep and aching that he’ll see it happen. In his lifetime, he may yet see the caring and cooperative society that he’s begun to dream of.

It will take effort, and pain, and sacrifice—the old empire may yet burn itself out as it burned itself onward, in an unstoppable smog of dust. But Papyrus thinks, with Undyne on their side and the sincere efforts of every monster, that peace may yet be an option.

It is a tenuous thing, this third and final path. Far more likely, Papyrus is a fool who will die on a fool’s errand, dreaming that his people could be better than they are. It all depends on so many delicate feats of timing and diplomacy and, more than anything, good faith.

Diplomacy is not Papyrus’s strong point—or anyone’s. Faith was burnt out of him the moment he realized that no, Sans was never going to love a monster who’d gained LOVE quite like he’d loved Papyrus without it.

Timing is something that Papyrus is good at; something that had generally been on their side. He’s approached the right monsters in the right order, given them space to think, and let them come to him when necessary. Honestly, a lot of his efforts have involved approaching whatever dazed monster the human left in their wake and nudging them to consider the possibilities of sparing others again, or even all of the time; of perhaps being shown mercy in return.

It was working. The more Papyrus and then Undyne worked at it, the more people began to agree. It was slow and tentative, but it was progress; something was happening that Papyrus had never even imagined before. Once Alphys came around, and Mettaton with her, success became a very real possibility.

But it all depended on King Asgore not finding out about the human, the figure at the center of their LOVEless revolution, before he and Undyne and Alphys could prepare. That was the one thing completely outside of Papyrus’s control that would decide his fate and the fate of all monsterkind.

The human’s execution would send a devastating blow to monsterkind. It would brand the fate of every rebellious pacifist. Papyrus cannot allow it.

Or perhaps these are all justifications, grandiose things he tells himself; and the truth is that he couldn’t stand to lose his littlest sibling.

Perhaps he is a sentimental fool, lingering on his hopes and plans for the future, when his fate has clearly been decided.

Papyrus knows the instant he wakes up that his efforts have come to an end. He knows this because the face of the king, warped and wrong but undeniably the tyrant himself, looms over him, and there is a too-small, trembling body pressed against the back of his armor.

Papyrus is not eager to die. He is not his brother. But he made a choice when he spared the human, and he will not back down now.

Acting in an instant, Papyrus sweeps his sibling back, leaping to his feet and preparing an attack in defense. The human moves fluidly with him, scrambling to their feet behind him and giving him space to maneuver.

Papyrus’s gaze darts around the room—it’s not familiar to him. The king seems to block the only escape, unless there is one behind him. He doesn’t feel a warm draft to indicate a path to Hotland.

There are no guards to be seen or heard nearby. If Papyrus had any hope of defeating the tyrant in battle, he would have a golden opportunity for an assassination. As it is, he can only try to buy time for his younger sibling to escape, and hope that Sans arrives quickly enough for it to matter. A hopeless battle, some would say.

Papyrus will give it his all. He always does.

The tyrant is watching him. A test, likely, to see if he’ll renounce his ties to the human and grovel for his life. Instead, Papyrus takes the opportunity to raise four lethal waves of bone attacks and turn the king’s SOUL blue.

It isn’t enough to truly phase Asgore, but it offers enough of a distraction that Papyrus can take a second’s action. He hits the speed dial on his phone and lets it ring precisely once before hanging up. It’s their family signal for emergency, SOS, I-am-about-to-die. He tosses the phone blindly behind him for the human to pick up.

Sans will come and get them. Papyrus needs to stay alive for that long. At least long enough that the human will be hanging on to life by the time Sans comes. At least long enough to count.

…the tyrant hasn’t destroyed his bone attack—hasn’t even tried. All four walls are well intact. The blue SOUL beyond them isn’t fighting its new position against the wall.

“Oh, dear,” says a soft, deep voice, somewhat distorted by the walls upon walls of humming attacks. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Can I convince you to stop attacking for a moment? There is no need for hostility. I will not harm you.”

_Not as long as…_

Well, Papyrus is going to be executed or Sans is going to come and save his proverbial hide, anyway. He may as well say what he thinks.

“Not as long as I give up the human? Thank you, but no. Do what you will. You are not getting your final SOUL,” he says, trying for dignified and landing firmly in hateful.

“Excellent,” says the tyrant. He sounds calm. “That’s something we can agree on. I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps you’d like to discuss further over a nice cup of tea?”

…it’s a trick. It has to be a trick.

Asgore is not known for saying things he doesn’t mean—changing his mind, yes, and raging bouts of paranoia, and insanity generally, but not deceit. Perhaps Papyrus has come across him during a particularly strong break from reality?

Perhaps…he can use this to his advantage.

“I would prefer a peaceable meeting, as well,” he tries. The bone wall does not waver as he waits for a response.

“Great! Please, come with me, and I will show you to my home. That is, if you’ll…?” The king trails off, gently but expectantly.

Papyrus gestures behind him for the human to move to the side. If the tyrant is hoping to launch a surprise attack, they will at least not be where he is expecting them.

Once he feels their small weight at his side, he allows a single bone to fall from each wall, giving Asgore a window to launch a fireball through.

No fireball comes.

Cautiously, ready to stop at any moment, Papyrus allows his walls to cascade inward. They shrink to the ground in front of him harmlessly. He can see the king, pressed against the wall with blue magic, wielding no weapon at all.

The blue magic is the last thing to dissipate. The king is free to make his move. And yet…

Papyrus rarely envies his brother the ability to see others’ stats. The only thing it’s ever brought Sans is grief and the occasional bout of insanity. Papyrus feels the weight of his opponent’s LOVE through the danger he feels when facing them, and that is enough for him. Knowing the exact numbers is rarely as much of an advantage as one might hope.

But now, he feels very little danger from the monster across from him. This is nothing like facing Undyne, who the king trained personally. This is like…it’s like facing a child.

The king is not even dressed in his regalia, which hasn’t happened for over a century.

And his beard is the wrong color, and his weapon is missing.

If Papyrus is to lead a passive revolution, he needs to choose peace, himself. Against the tyrant, certainly, violence is the only option…but this is not Papyrus’s king.

The would-be king looks at Papyrus with something close to pity when he draws his human sibling close and glares, but Papyrus is finding it difficult to care.

If this is not King Asgore, then…

Just what _was_ that machine of Sans’s? Where _are_ they?

As if to add to the chaos, Papyrus’s phone rings. His human sibling looks at it—it must be Sans, right?—and hesitates.

It rings a second time. No emergency signal. Sans is safe.

Reluctantly, the human accepts the call. From the speaker, Papyrus can hear his brother’s tinny voice.

“Papy! I’m sorry I missed your call. Did you need something from the store after all? It’s alright, even the greatest among us forget our grocery lists from time to time!”

A lance of something colder than ice and sharper than an electric shock goes through him.

Sans, too? Even Papyrus’s brother? Even the one monster he’s dragged by bone and dust away from the edge of Falling Down, who he’s forced into living, who he’s clung to all these years while Sans tried to be anywhere else? The one monster he’s always managed to hold on to…

The voice coming from Papyrus’s phone is like an impersonation from someone who’s never even thought of speaking to Sans before. His font is right, but his tone, his words…Sans doesn’t even _go_ grocery shopping, the lazy ass. He leaves Papyrus to handle it along with the rest of the household chores. It was a minor miracle when he bothered to help build the human’s house out of the shed.

It’s like Sans, but all wrong. It’s like the king, but all wrong.

Papyrus risks a moment’s inattention to look at his younger sibling. They look back at him for reassurance, holding the phone like it might bite them and holding Papyrus like he can save them.

At least someone still has some sense. Papyrus refuses to acknowledge any feelings—

No. He’s trying to be better than that. Humans are pacifists, and delicate, and require gentle rearing; that means the occasional emotion has to be suffered.

Papyrus is _relieved_ that his youngest sibling is safe and well, and he is _happy_ that they are in his sight. He is ~~angry~~ _worried_ about his brother’s absence. He is _not going to kill ~~easy LOVE~~ an unarmed opponent unprovoked_.

The child would not blame him if he did, he knows—not yet. But years from now, later down the line…Papyrus will not take risks. He will not wake up one morning to find that both of his siblings have abandoned him for his violence. Papyrus will be _better_.

Reaching over, Papyrus neatly snaps the phone shut on the voice at the other end, which has begun asking if he can hear him and if everything is alright.

He doesn’t know where he is, but that is _not_ Sans. He needs to keep their younger sibling alive and well, and then track Sans down before the idiot dusts himself on a can opener or something. It was Sans’s machine that put them here, he’s sure of it—Sans himself can’t be far behind. He can’t have abandoned Papyrus and the human to their fates.

He promised to be better this time. Sans keeps his promises. He won’t disappear on them.

All the same, there is no reason to sit idly and wait for Sans’s reappearance—he will come when he comes. In the meantime, there is someone he needs to protect, and it’s not himself this time.

Papyrus keeps his sibling close as he turns to stride decisively onwards. Strange world or no, he will do what he’s always done. He will give it his all, and then some.

The human holds onto him and scurries along in perfect accord. The idea that they’re not alone fills them with DETERMINATION.

**Author's Note:**

> Man, UF!Papyrus is the coolest. I kinda do want to explore him meeting the other skeletons, to much alarm on everyone's part. Next post will be the next chapter of Whither Then, though--I miss it too much! I'll probably ask for requests on what to work on after that.
> 
> My roommate titled this based on vague descriptions of the plot. "it's basically the same thing over again, but different, right?" It's also perfect bc, in the musical, too many sorta-adoptive parents, and in this fic,, many adoptive brothers,,,,,
> 
> See you in two weeks! Please leave a comment if you liked this :)


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